


The Sweetness of Revenge

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories II [16]
Category: E.R., X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter and John talk about their respective days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetness of Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately, relatively unharmed.
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS: To KiMeriKal and Crysothemis for beta reading and friendship.

Walter could not get his breath. Every time he thought he was back under control, the laughter came rolling up inside him again. John Carter was no better. Walter could hear him wheezing and gasping as he tried to speak.

"Oh, God, Walter, that was priceless."

The pure venom in Krycek's voice had been worth every penny, and every moment of planning. The new cell phone, e-mail to John Carter with the excerpts from the novel he'd bought earlier in the day.

"What in God's name made you call me Daddy?"

"I have no idea, Walter. It just seemed right at the moment."

They both began to giggle again. "Homophobic little fucker. With any luck he lost his dinner."

"With any luck he's got a hard-on now and is freaking out!"

"John Carter!"

"Hey, he's probably just jealous that I've got you and he doesn't."

"Yeah, right." Walter snorted, but smiled.

"By the way, Walter, what are you wearing?"

"Suit pants and a dress shirt. You?"

"Naked as a blue jay, Walter. Lying here thinking about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and my guy's all at attention now. He thought there was going to be a party, and he's sorely disappointed to find out that we're here alone."

Walter couldn't help but laugh. "You are hopeless, John Carter."

"Actually, I think at the moment, I'm kinda hopeful. Wanna have phone sex for real?" Walter felt his penis stiffen. "I could be convinced."

"Where are you?"

"In the living room."

"Go upstairs. Now. Take off everything. Then lie on the bed and tell me you're ready."

"Bossy little bastard, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh, and you love it. Go, now, Walter."

Walter quickly rose and headed up the stairs. He could hear John Carter breathing, but neither of them spoke. Once in his room he set the phone down and followed John's commands to get undressed. Anyone who thought that John Carter was a passive man had obviously never been to bed with him. There were times Walter wasn't sure that he hadn't created his own Frankenstein. Once John Carter had figured out what he liked in terms of gay sex, he'd pursued becoming expert at it in the same way he would pursue excellence at a new medical procedure.

And expert he'd become. He could play Walter's body like a fine instrument, wringing from it greater pleasure than Walter would have thought possible. Walter had always prided himself on his control. He might not be able to get an erection as often as a younger man, but what he got, he kept for as long as possible.

John Carter found ways to take advantage of that every time they were together. Inventive was John Carter's middle name.

Walter picked the phone back up. "John Carter?"

"Do you have lube handy?"

Walter found lube and tossed it onto the bed. "Got it."

"Then lie down, Walter."

Walter laid down, stretching out, feeling the cool of the comforter against his back. He pulled the pillow out from under the cover and rolled it under his head so he could prop the phone against it.

"I'm lying down." All Walter could hear for a moment was heavy breathing. "John Carter? Are you all right?"

"Oh, this isn't going to take long." John Carter's voice sounded tight, as though he was fighting for control. "Quickly, Walter. Lube on hand, hand on penis. Now."

Walter smiled, and complied slowly, knowing that on the other end of the phone line John Carter was struggling to hold back his orgasm. The short, quick breaths were a dead give-away. "Now what?"

"Oh, Jesus, Walter."

"Are you touching yourself?" Walter asked teasing.

"If I so much as lay a finger on myself right now I'm going to blow. Damn you."

"It's not my fault you have such a vivid imagination."

"Oh, God, you're lying there, stroking yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, John Carter. I'm hard, and my fist is tight. I'm doing those long, slow strokes that you like so much."

There was a strangled out-cry and a moan, and Walter knew that John Carter had lost the battle. "You make such wonderful noises, John Carter." Walter felt his own orgasm building as he listened to John gasping for air, little sighs mixing with almost mewling sounds of release.

"Walter, come for me," John Carter's breathless voice whispered through the phone and Walter felt the rush of blood, the pounding of his heart, and the hot flow of semen splashing over his hand and onto his stomach.

"John Carter," Walter sighed into the phone.

For a long time they were both silent, then John Carter groaned. "Well, now that we've taken care of that."

Walter reached down and snagged his underwear off the floor, using it to wipe himself clean. He could hear the sound of tissues being pulled from a box on John Carter's end of the line. "So you think you can talk now?"

John Carter laughed. "Yeah, all better now."

Walter pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. "So how did things go with your grandfather?"

The long sigh told Walter more than words would have. "He knows something, but I have no idea what it is. He won't talk to me." Walter could hear a noise in the background as John was silent. Finally he realized it was John Carter snapping the elastic on the waist of his boxers.

"You weren't naked."

There was a snort and then John Carter replied, "Boxers don't count when they're down around your knees."

"And the rest of you?"

"Ah…."

"Do you still have your tie on?"

There was another snort, "I did loosen it."

"Oh, John Carter."

"I just barely got down to the room in time," John explained. "Kerry was in the kitchen and I didn't want to be doing our little dialogue with her listening."

"You lied to me."

John Carter laughed. "Sounds like your imagination is as good as mine."

"Some day, John Carter."

"Tell me about your day."

Walter noticed the quick change of subject, but let it ride. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face as he thought about his day. "Sleazy, Snarly, and Dweeby."

"What?"

"Mulder's three friends. There were originally ten dwarfs, you know. But three of them were too disgusting to be put in a fairy tale."

"Sleazy, Snarly, and Dweeby."

"Yeah, and they're still alive today, living in a warehouse in an industrial park right outside D.C."

Scully had known exactly how to find them. They'd driven out to the warehouse in silence. Walter afraid to break the silence and Scully apparently having no inclination to talk to him. Once inside, Scully had bullied them the same way she did everyone else. The woman was like a steamroller when she wanted something done.

"Assistant Director Skinner needs your help. You're going to give it, and you're not going to tell Mulder about it unless all three of you want to face the rest of your lives minus important parts of your anatomy, and I am not talking about your heads."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Frohike had leered, but one patented Scully glare had quieted even him.

"We'll do whatever we can, Agent Scully. But may I ask why you don't want Mulder informed?" Byers asked.

"Krycek." Walter didn't have to say anything else. The three nodded.

"Any idea what we're looking for?"

Walter tossed a page from the Chicago Sun onto the table. "The Edson murder. The man was trying to blackmail John Carter. I went to Chicago. We were going to go public."

"And then the good Doc Edson turns up dead," said Frohike as he scanned the article.

"Yes."

"You think Krycek killed him?"

"I'm no good to Krycek outside the Bureau."

"Anyone else that might have a reason to kill this guy?" asked Frohike

"John Carter's grandfather."

Langly took the paper out of Frohike's hands. "Why would gramps care? I thought Johnny boy had pretty much been locked out of the Carter family."

"He's still a Carter. And the Carters hate scandal."

"Yeah, wouldn't do for the world to know he was taking it up the ass, would it?" Frohike said. Langly punched Frohike on the arm. "Hey!"

Walter felt his face flush.

"Sorry, Mr. Skinner," said Byers.

"Actually," Walter had to stop himself from calling the little man Sleazy, "John Carter's the top."

The blanching of the three faces was worth saying it. Walter didn't smile, but he caught a glimpse of Scully grinning.

"Now do you think you can help me find Krycek?"

"Ah…sure," said Langly.

John Carter was laughing again. "Frohike will probably have nightmares now."

"Good."

They were both silent, then John Carter said, "I ought to get something to eat and try to get some sleep. I've got a long day tomorrow."

"Me, too."

"Walter?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For loving me."

Walter felt his face flush again. He smiled and spoke softly, "Oh, John Carter."

"Night."

The line went dead and Walter turned the phone off. He set it down on the bedside table. The dull glow of city lights kept the room from being dark. The yellow glow of the bedside lamp created a halo of light that just encompassed the place where he was sitting and not much else.

He reached over and lifted up the other pillow. Beneath it was a Northwestern sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. John Carter had slept in it while he was recovering from his injuries and surgery. Walter had slipped it out of his suitcase just before he left. He wasn't sure, but he believed he could still smell John Carter on it.

He sat with one hand on the shirt, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of traffic drifting up from the street far below. The room seemed very, very empty


End file.
